Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien
by Misery LaVey
Summary: Few months after That Flight, Lisa's managed to change her life completely. But what happens when Jackson escapes from jail and wants to take his revenge? What happens when Lisa finds out that, in the end, Jackson's the only person who hasn't lied to her
1. Chapter 1: The Afterlife

**A/N:** It really happens very rarely when I wouldn't change a thing about a movie that I watch. That's the case with "Red Eye". How amazing was this, seriously? So, I decided not to give any twists to what happened on That Flight (unless I'll come up with something later, but I swear that's gonna be nothing but insignificant details), and start the story a few months later, when both Lisa and Jackson have to deal with the consequences of That Flight and the decisions they made. Even though the story begins in the middle of the trial, it won't be anything Grisham-like. Also, I'm not Grisham (not even close. How could I even make such a comparison?), not to mention that legal system in my country works drastically differently than it does in States, so some law-related things might be messed up, and for that I apologize in advance. Anyway, I hope you're going to like it!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own "Red Eye". I also don't own Edith Piaf's song. No copyright infringement intended, blah, blah, blah. Enjoy!

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><p><strong>Chapter 1. The Afterlife<strong>

It was nothing like she'd imagined.

If anything, it was exactly the opposite. All the things she'd wanted to enjoy when, as she'd foolishly hoped, her nightmare would be over, turned out rather disappointing. To put it delicately. Sense of security was an illusion. Non-existent, not there. Most probably never to be regained. Thinking back to the times before That Flight, Lisa couldn't quite believe how obliviously safe she'd felt. Safe and sound. Unaware of a pair of unearthly blue eyes watching her every move. Stupidly secure and carefree. Ignorance is fucking bliss, she thought bitterly.

_Yeah, until it isn't_.

And there was freedom, too, another bad joke. In Lisa's afterlife, freedom wasn't exactly what she'd expected. She was neither free from having to deal with countless accusations, one more absurd than another, nor from being trapped – still, even after over four months since That Flight – in her own, private hell. In the end, it was, perhaps, worse of the two.

Who would've thought that the afterlife would be nothing but a purgatory, she pondered, as she absent-mindedly skimmed through folders in her boyfriend's laptop. Or maybe not even that, not even purgatory, her mind tacked on maliciously, bringing up memories from the last hearing in the court. To say it was painful would be a serious understatement. Lisa winced, she had been trying not to think about this for the whole afternoon, but now all her efforts went to shit.

And it'd been like that every single time. No exceptions. She could have spent hours on, rather despondent, to be honest, exercises in concentration just to be eventually defeated within a second. One simple thought, and she was back to the square one, unable to think about literally anything but That Flight. One stupid thought, most often not even logically related to, hm, the subject, in anyway, and all Lisa could see under her eyelids was _him_.

But she wasn't gonna give in to this tonight. She wasn't going to succumb to her twisted thoughts and even more twisted emotions, which she'd been pretending to analyse once a week for an hour, under the half-heartedly scrutinizing gaze of her very overpaid therapist. Not to night. After all, she still had about 50 pages to read and she simply had to finish before Mark would get back.

It's not like he wasn't going to find out that she'd messed with his work files – "Top secret. They're top-fucking-secret, Lisa, I've told you so many times!" – because he would always find out, but, as Lisa had learnt pretty quickly, Mark was way easier to placate if he hadn't caught her red-handed with his FBI stuff.

Lisa shook her head in disbelief, the fact that for almost three months she'd been dating someone like Mark was still extremely difficult to believe. And yet, there she was, sitting in his apartment on Monday afternoon, wearing nothing but his white shirt, despite the painful awareness of how much of a cliché this was, and sticking her nose into what was definitely not her business.

Anything to keep her mind occupied. Anything to stay away from the memories. Memories were problematic. All kinds of memories, actually.

The real problem, however, was that Lisa Reisert's memories – and especially memories about one particular person – were the only thing that motivated her to take any actions these days. It was because of these memories that she was reading FBI files in the first place.

Not that it could help her in any way.

Could anything help her at this point?

Tired from scanning the text on the computer screen, Lisa closer her eyes. Predictably enough, everything came back to her at once. But, because it had only happened just recently, what came back most vividly was the last hearing. Lisa cringed at the memory, feeling anger spreading through her cell by cell.

How little it took to make her feel like this, she noted bitterly. How little it took for him to completely fuck up her life just when she'd thought it couldn't be fucked up any more.

The hearing, the whole trial in Lisa's opinion, was sheer absurdity. What had seemed so clear and obvious at the very beginning, was almost magically transformed into barely understandable legal gibberish and soon Lisa had found herself defending from his lawyers' accusation that, despite everything – common-sense included – it was her who'd done it. And it was him who'd tried to stop her.

It was astonishing, truly amazing even, the difference between what Lisa had considered good lawyers and the lawyers that his company could afford. As she'd been sitting in the courtroom, and doing her best to avoid his electrifying gaze, she'd soon come to a sad conclusion that these lawyers could do everything, even prove Osama Bin Laden not guilty. Comparing to that, Jackson Rippner's case seemed a true no-brainer for these guys.

"_That_'s what happens when you mess with my superiors, Leese." Jackson had told her after the trial, when he'd passed in front of the courtroom. Obviously, he'd noticed how defeated she must have looked and he was now basking in it, but Lisa was too stunned by how the two policemen who were escorting him stopped, politely, almost obligingly, to notice the way Jackson had looked at her.

She wouldn't dare looking at him again anyway.

She'd made the mistake to do that in the courtroom and she'd made a fool of herself. One look into his eyes, fixed on her and she'd forgotten the lawyer's question. Which had been, of course, ruthlessly used against her. "Are you intending to answer my question, Ms. Reisert or should I repeat it in case that Mr Rippner's very presence here makes it difficult, or impossible even, for you to concentrate properly", the lawyer said, flashing a malicious grin at her and, the very next second, a scenically sad smile at the jury.

Still unable to avert her gaze, Lisa saw Jackson smirking at her triumphantly. As if he'd already won, as if he'd already been freed from all the charges, and Lisa had to admit, with every trial, she'd grown more and more sure that, in the end, that would be exactly the result, Jack's almighty fucking company would buy his freedom.

If only she'd been able to look away from him and spit in that lawyer's face.

"Lisa? Are you all right?" a concerned voice woke her up from her masochistic self-analysis. She opened her eyes and forced an welcoming smile at Mark, "her FBI boyfriend" as she loved to refer to him in her thoughts, who was standing in the doorway and watching her intently. He was a tall, handsome man with this unmistakable aura of honesty about him. He was charming and intelligent, but Lisa had found herself drawn to him because of rather disturbing detail. His eyes.

His unusually blue eyes.

"Yeah, I'm fine – " she said and got up to give him a peck on the cheek, " – I was just reading top secret stuff and guilt has overwhelmed me". Mark laughed and looked at her appreciatively, she was still wearing his shirt, which meant that she'd been just procrastinating ever since he'd left in the early morning. And that, consequentially and most importantly, meant she had nothing underneath that shirt. He wanted to give her a kiss on the lips, he'd spent the last two hours at work thinking of that moment when he'd see her again, but she slipped out of his embrace and with fake cheerfulness offered to prepare the dinner.

"I bet you're starving – " she was already on her way to the kitchen, " – but, lucky for you, my famous lasagne will be ready in exactly two minutes. And 30 seconds".

Mark took a glance at the files Lisa'd been reading and shut the laptop, thinking that he wouldn't be surprised if it turned out that it's all the confidential data that Lisa's dating him for. She seemed obsessed with everything he wasn't allowed to tell her.

Which, in a truly formidable majority, was everything concerning Jackson Rippner.

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><p><strong>AN:** Please press review button and let me know what you think! I am absolutely terrified of writing this fan-fiction, since the movie was absolute perfection, but, at the same time, this story is going to mess with my head if I don't write it down. So. REVIEW and tell me whether you liked it, hated it, etc.

And, of course, thanks for reading!

**~Misery LaVey**


	2. Chapter 2: Getting Away With Murder

**A/N:** I know. It took me forever to update. For that I'm sorry (I do have quite an excuse, though. I've just moved to London and I'm spending time dealing with harsh reality rather than amazing reality of fan-fics...). Here's the next chapter, I hope you're gonna like it! I'd like to thank you guys for all the amazing reviews, faves and alerts, this is really, really motivating!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Red Eye. No copyright infrigement intended etc blah blah blah :)

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><p><strong>Chapter 002: Getting Away With Murder<strong>

Sunlight was pouring inside ruthlessly, drowning them in pure, burning gold. Tiny pieces of dust were performing their usual ballet, making the air look as if it was on fire, filled with countless sparkles. Everything about the picture was warm and dreamy.

Everything, except the silence.

They ate the lasagne without a single word uttered and Lisa actually didn't mind. Last thing she wanted were Mark's excuses. She really didn't want to hear, once again, that her interest with everything concerning Jackson Rippner, even the smallest piece of information, was anything but normal. And it had nothing to do with all that post-traumatic bullshit, in which neither of them actually believed. Why would she want to listen to all that crap again? Especially when most of it was right?

She couldn't help herself, though. She just craved for information, for the classified data, she felt as if with every file read, every detail remembered, she was safer, even if, in reality, the truth was the exact opposite.

"So. The trial tomorrow, Leese – " Mark began hesitantly, but Lisa barged in angrily, dropping the fork on the plate in a slightly over-dramatic gesture. "How many times do I have to tell you?"

Mark just stared at her in disbelief. Was she going to ruin their evening before it even started?

"Just how hard it is to remember this one thing?" she asked sharply, and then, as Mark refused to acknowledge the mistake, she explained: "Do not call me 'Leese', okay?"

"Why? Because _he_ did?" Mark couldn't bite his tongue. He'd been hoping for a nice, normal evening and, instead, he was getting silent treatment for no apparent reason – at least none that he'd want to admit he was aware of, and now this.

"Just don't." Lisa scowled at him and got back to eating her dinner. She wasn't going to let him do that, not a day before another trial. Or, to be more precise, sixteen hours before another trial.

"Look. I was just hoping you'd go with me to this party tomorrow evening" Mark took up after a few moments of resolute silence. "And, before you tell me that you're always dying from migraines the whole day after the trial, let me inform you about the existence of painkillers. Some of them can kick ass real bad."

"What would I do without you" Lisa muttered unconvinced. She simply knew she _would_ be dying of migraines. And of shame. And a whole loads of other emotions that she wasn't going to name. How Mark was expecting her to attend any social event, when he knew how devastated she'd always been after those trials? How could he?

"I just think it's better than sitting all alone and over-analysing every damn minute of this mockery" said Mark, as if guessing her thoughts. Lisa nodded slightly. Maybe that was better, in the end. After all, she could always just get really, really drunk and pass out. This way she would escape her thoughts _and_ embarrass Mark, which was something, she thought, he deserved for not being 100% understanding.

"Well, what kind of party is that? Because, honestly, I don't think I can stand another … _event_ with your boss. What was her name? Irene, right?" Lisa smirked maliciously. Irene, a middle-aged, horrendously frigid woman, was one of Mark's supervisors and, as drained from any emotions as she appeared to be, she'd always knew just the right words to cut people to the very bone. And, for some reason, she just loved to sharpen this talent of hers on Mark. For Lisa, she was surprisingly and quite suspiciously sweet. Either way, spending time with her was, at least in Lisa's opinion, a real nightmare.

Almost as bad as the nightmare that awaited her in less than sixteen hours.

"No, it's not just work. There are gonna be some other people. Some journalists, too" Mark explained slyly, knowing that, ever since Lisa had been fired from her hotel ("Last thing we need is more publicity like this, Miss Reisert. You of all people should understand that"), she'd been chewing over the idea of working of press. She definitely had a drive for the information. Especially that kind she wasn't qualified to get hold of.

A small smile on Lisa's lips was enough of an answer to Mark. "Well, now all you've gotta do is to survive the trial tomorrow, _Leese_" he mocked and plunged the very next second from the fork being thrown right at him.

**XXXxxxxXXXxxx**

Her head was pounding so heavily that she was surprised how no one else but her can hear it. Few more seconds and, she knew it, her temples would just explode, splashing dark thick blood all over the courtroom. She would just drop dead right there, where she was sitting, because the things that Rippner's lawyer was saying, the bullshit that he was feeding the jury with, that was just unbelievable. And, what's worse, the jury seemed quite impressed by his speech.

Well, she had to admit, the speech _was_ impressive, to say the least.

Because, wasn't that just extraordinary and remarkable and what not, to convince a bunch of rather sane people that Lisa Reisert was in fact nothing but a lunatic, whose testimonies should not be taken seriously? Quite frankly, this was her hell.

"…And, last but certainly not least, we should not ignore the fact that people in Miss Reisert's condition often, extremely often, as various psychiatric sources confirm…they happen to confuse reality with their illusions, so, even if her statements were proven correct by polygraph, it might have been a simple mistake of a pitifully simple machine that even the dumbest thugs know how to deceive or – "

_Take a deep breath. Just breathe._ Lisa forced herself to slowly inhale, but the air seemed to be not there. She was just about to close her eyes, when she felt someone staring at her. _Of-fucking-course_, she thought, and in a clearly stupid bravery, she looked right at him.

And, as always, as every single time, she needed few seconds to get used to his intensely blue eyes. Then, she needed another few seconds to get over the both horrible and exciting feeling that these eyes were piercing her right to her very soul, making her feel exposed, almost naked. There was something almost unearthly about the way he would look at her these days and every single time it left her questioning everything she knew, everything she felt, everything she was.

But then, then she heard the lawyer's incredulous finale. And fury blurred her vision.

"– Or, it might have been…it _must have been_ because Miss Reisert lost touch with reality and, as many terrorists do, she believed her own lies"

"You have got to be fucking kidding" words escaped her mouth before she could really think of the consequences. And when she _could_ think about the consequences of her rather loud interruption, once again, she met Jackson Rippner's gaze and, much to her utter shock, she saw some kind of twisted approval or maybe even admiration in his eyes.

_No. Not like this_, she thought, got up from her seat and stormed out of the courtroom, completely unmoved by the fact that it wasn't just Rippner who was looking at her in this moment. She had all the attention of every single person in the vast courtroom.

As she shut the door behind her, she wondered what she'd meant by 'not like this', but, once again, it was easier to run than to stop and think. There's nothing to think about, she decided and, as quickly as it was possible, she left the court. Due to the fact that not much was happening in the country lately, Rippner's case – or, as press had named it "Rippner and Reisert's case" – was getting just simply insane amount of press, which was why Lisa had only about a minute or two to escape journalists.

_And to think that I want to work like that_, it crossed her mind, as she was driving of the parkway. To think she wanted to make living of writing horrible things about others. To think she wanted to use information to gain control. No, it was more than that. What Lisa really wanted was to buy her way into one of the newspapers, or even tabloids, with the information she stole – because, after all, that's what she'd done – from her hard-working, honest FBI boyfriend.

Considering the direction in which the trial was heading, this could be the last call to sell what I know, she thought and, because her hands were shaking too heavily on the wheel, she parked her car in front of some random shop and decided to rest for a while. She turned on the radio, wanting to hear the local news and get over with the humiliation already and, while waiting for adds to end; she was just blankly staring at her hands. Yes, they were shaking, yes it was disturbing, yes someone might think she's an alcoholic and yes, she felt like she could use a drink.

_Just breathe,_ she commanded herself again, it has become her favourite mantra lately; less and less effective, though. Breathing wasn't easy. But then, again, no one was looking at her right now. Unlike back then, in the courtroom.

Feeling the all-too-familiar sense of defeat, Lisa closed her eyes and thought about sitting in the courtroom for hours and listening to those two flight attendants shamelessly lying under oath, while, at the same time, feeling Jackson's eyes burning hole right through her.

He'd been sitting in between his two genius lawyers, and, most of the time, he was glancing over his shoulder, right at Lisa. She was sure it was something he'd been told to do, this just had to be some trick to convince the jury that she's crazy, that he cares, that…_Oh, my God, what am I doing_, she hid her face in her hands and suddenly started to cry. Why did it even matter why Rippner had been staring at her? It should be the least important thing now.

Lisa spent the next fifteen minutes or so crying in her car, because she was unable to stop wondering why. Why was he looking at her like that? Arrogantly and, yet, with genuine curiosity? Why was he like that? And, more importantly, why did it affect her at all? Hadn't she stuck that damn pen into his throat? Hadn't she fought him and, in the end, fired the gun at him?

It was foolish of her, she evaluated, to expect she'd be emotionally detached. After all, she'd already felt sorry the moment she'd seen him lying there, on the floor of her father's house, defeated and in pain.

_Sorry? Oh, really, Lisa?_ She slapped herself mentally. Frankly, there was nothing to be sorry about. Except, maybe, the whole thing. The way it all had become the exact opposite of what she'd idiotically hoped for during those few minutes in the airport.

And, as if all those questions and doubts were not enough, there was also the wider picture. The trial. Why was this even happening?

Few weeks earlier, while visiting Mark at work, Lisa had a once-in-a-lifetime chance to risk the future of her relationship with him by sneaking into Irene's office and reading some seriously classified files, so she knew just how important Jackson was to his Company. He couldn't possibly be any more important, actually, because he was the only son of the Company's boss. Boss was not the word, though. More like emperor, she'd judged from the report of how he 'ruled' his organisation. But, was that enough to buy Jackson's freedom against all the evidence? And in such a blatantly insane way?

Were those lawyers hypnotizers of some kind? _No, there's only one person in that courtroom with such skill_, Lisa thought and reached to her purse for tissues. Facts were facts, in the end, and she had to admit once again in order to proceed pretending everything's fine, there was something extremely abnormal in the way she felt in Jackson Rippner's presence.

_That's why, I'm never going to see him again,_ she decided suddenly and a strong wave of relief came over her. That's it. She was never going to attend another trial; the whole case was coming to its close anyway, so she could as well just move to Mexico, before they press some absurd charges against her. So, yeah, Mexico.

_Or The North Pole_.

She looked at herself in the rear-view mirror and smiled. Yes, it was just that easy. There's no need to relive the past over and over again. There's no need.

_Now I can even go this stupid party_, she thought and chuckled.

**XXXxxxxXXXxxx**

The party was, indeed, stupid. There was no better word to describe it and Lisa was entertaining herself with planning what to pack for her 'holidays'. She really opted for Mexico, because she knew crossing the border wouldn't be a problem and it was the kind of trip she could make without having to get on a plane. Not to mention, she quite hated winter.

"So, are we having fun, honey?" Mark showed up from nowhere, probably he'd spent the last 10 minutes trying to make his way through the crowd of people drunkenly swaying on the dance-floor, which was, in fact, just a vast living room in a mansion of some rich hipster. _Where – and why – does he even meet such people_, though Lisa as Mark was handing her another drink and, at the same time, clumsily trying to kiss her in the neck.

"Is my Leese having fun?" he asked again and Lisa realized he was pretty drunk. Even though he'd promised to drive back home. Suddenly irritated and feeling the migraine defeating the so-called 'kick-ass painkillers', Lisa pushed her boyfriend away and went upstairs.

She was quite curious of how the whole mansion looked, because what she'd seen of it so far was just entertainingly tasteless, but, at the same time, she needed silence. She'd kill for a few moments of the blackout, so that the music would stop.

Not gonna happen tonight, she thought sceptically and entered a bathroom. She closed the door behind her and was just about to wash her face with cold water when she realized she wasn't alone.

Just a few steps from her, in the empty bathtub, someone was leering at her. Lisa immediately turned on her heel, deciding it was better to confront whoever this person was, but, the potential aggressor turned out to be just an unbelievably drunk, slightly balding guy in his late-forties. He had a half-emptied bottle of vodka in one hand and soap in another and, as soon as Lisa faced him, he burst with laughter.

"What are the odds!" he said, his voice slurring but still understandable. "What are the odds!" Lisa sat on the cold floor and looked at the guy. She knew he was working for one of the worst tabloids, his name was Henry. Or Harry. Or whatever. She'd met him on quite a few parties before, for some reason he'd always been around FBI-people, much like she would expect from a lousy reporter.

"Yeah, what are the odds" she echoed him, but, when he silently offered her a bottle, she just shook her head no. "What are you doing here, Henry?" she asked, risking the possibility of offending him with the wrong name, but he just burst with laughter again.

"What's so funny, huh?"

"You. You are funny – " Henry, because apparently it was Henry after all, said, " – your drama-queen behaviour is priceless, Lisa Reisert. Just priceless."

"Oh, God" Lisa exhaled and bumped her head against the wall few times. So this is how it's gonna go down, she'd left the party to talk about the trial with some drunk journalist who hadn't even wrote a single word of truth in his entire career. "I think that as far as you're concerned the price is quite concrete, though. They pay you for writing and I'm giving you something to write about, don't I?" she said, thinking that she wouldn't mind being in the receiving end of this rhetorical question.

"You think you're gonna win because you're honest, you're in the right, you're the hero, and so on – " Henry said slowly, probably very focused on sounding more sober than he was, just like most drunk people do when they still are self-conscious enough to realize they sound funny, " – but it's pointless. He's gonna get away with it. His daddy is gonna buy his freedom"

"You don't say" Lisa snorted and shrugged her shoulders, "Most likely there's nothing I can do about it. I'll wind up in jail, right? They're gonna press the charges finally -"

"Or bribe someone to do that -"

"And I'll be really fucked" she ended bitterly. Funny, how this boozed up creep was the only person who'd been openly realistic while talking to her about the trail. Everybody else had been way more into optimism and delusion rather than honesty.

"Most probably, yeah – " Henry said and giggled like a pre-teen, but then, suddenly, his tone changed into drunkenly-grave serious, " – But you know what? Even if you do end up accused and-slash-or sentenced, Rippner's next job will prove you innocent"

"Excuse me?" Lisa looked at him incredulously. This conversation was certainly getting more and more peculiar with every second. Henry beamed at her, happy from the reaction he'd received. He lowered his voice as if someone could hear them in that bathroom: "You know, his daddy is helping him now, but it's only because his planning something big for him. Something really, really big"

"Really. Like I'm gonna believe you" Lisa sneered and was just about to go out when Henry suddenly grabbed her wrist and said dramatically: "You think I'm making this up? Because, why? Why would I?" he seemed slightly more sober at that moment and Lisa just glared at him. She hated being in such situations. Of course, she knew that Henry was no real danger to her - after all, he was drunk, so she wasn't really scared.

She couldn't help, though, but have all kinds of bad memories flashing through her mind at the speed of sound.

"I don't know. To impress me?" she muttered and made an attempt to free her wrist from his grab. In the end, she thought resolutely, I can practice all that over-priced muai-thai and self-defence on him. But then, again, she might kill him in the process. So she just pulled her hand half-heartedly, until Henry let go of her.

"Impress you? From what I've heard it's you who's dying to impress people like me" Henry snorted and took a mouthful from his bottle. "Your boy-toy tells me you wanna be a journalist, babe"

_Boy-toy, really?_ Lisa raised an eyebrow at him, but it crossed her mind that this was quite accurate. It's not like she was in love or anything. It's just that dating an FBI agent was making her safer than if she was dating, for instance, a bussinessman.

"I'm telling you -" Henry got back to the topic, " - Rippner's father's not going to tolerate the slightest mistake. Even if it's made by his only child. So he's making the effort now, but later Jackson's gonna pay. I'm telling you, big thing is being planned for him. He's gonna go down in history big time"

Lisa felt her mouth horribly dry. Why all of sudden everything Henry was saying seemed so logical? Right now she'd happily share that bottle of vodka with him. "What do you mean? How big?" she leaned closer to him, wanting to seem conspiratorial and flirty at the same time. Henry smiled even wider, but Lisa thought it was a smile of someone who's not right in their mind. Of someone who's more than just slightly paranoid.

"Oh, let me tell you how big – " he whispered joyfully, " – it's so big, that there's nothing bigger than that. Except, like, probably, let's say, killing the pope."

Lisa blinked. This couldn't be what she thought it was. Honestly, it was just a drunk pathetic failed journalist. There was no reason to believe is babbling. But she asked anyway: "You don't mean killing the president, do you?"

"Bingo! Oh, you'd make such a great reporter, Lisa Reisert! Always going for the most dramatic answer" Henry suddenly jumped in the bathtub and did a little dance, spoiling vodka all over himself. Lisa got to her feet, feeling her heart speeding up against all reason. This couldn't be truth. This guy could not possible have access to such an information.

But, if there was even a tiny little chance that he _had_ an access to stuff like that, she could not take him for granted now.

"Henry…Henry – " she reached out for the bottle and, with kittenish smile, she took a small mouthful, grimacing at the horrible taste, " – you cannot be serious. How would you obtain such information? And why would you tell me?"

"Because I like you" Henry said and jovially wrapped his arm around Lisa's neck, while trying to step out of the bath. He almost fell over, but Lisa steadied him and, still with the flirtatious smile on her lips, she asked: "Why do you like me, Henry?"

"Because you're a fighter – " he said, " – and you're making this trial entertaining. And you could easily take my place in the newspaper when I'm gone and I'm gonna be gone soon...So…Lisa, even if he wins now, he is not going to get away with what his daddy has in mind for him. So this will make the court…all the courts in this country, to rethink Rippner and Reisert's case. No worries, huh?"

"But – " Lisa's mind was reeling now and she felt like throwing up, " – but what if he gets away with it. He's good, after all"

"The plan's made in a way to make it impossible for your friend Jackson to get away with anything. Do you really think The Company would be so powerful if half of FBI and CIA wasn't in its pocket? And, trust me, the other half is dying to get there. Not to mention all the damn politicians. Keefe being one of them – "

"Keefe?" Lisa almost burst with laughter.

"Yeah. The same Keefe they were trying to kill. Or was that you?" Henry pointed finger at her and giggled again. Lisa could smell him horrible breath and she barely resisted the impuls to take a few steps back from him. Or to slap him for saying 'your friend Jackson'.

"But what if Jackson refuses to do that?" Lisa asked.

"But don't you know?" Henry started giggling again. "No one can really say 'no' to them. It only sucks, in my humble opinion, that it's his father who signed his death sentence. And, actually, Lisa, sweetie, it's all thanks to you. Isn't it. Unless, of course, ha ha ha, Rippner's lawyers' version is the right one"

Lisa pushed him away, almost making him trip over his own legs, and stared at him in disbelief for the longest moment. No. She wasn't going to believe this. Henry was drunk and worked for the tabloid. This couldn't be legit.

"This can't be truth, Henry. Just how could you possibly get your hands on such – "

"Oh, it's easier than you think – " Henry barged in hastily, his hurt pride made him spill the beans one more time, " – You just need to hack a few computers of the right people in FBI who know the right people in The Company. Also, you'd be surprised what secrets people spill when they're high or blackmailed. That's it. And, I've got a whole hard drive of details on it, you know? It's back at my home in Colorado"

"Colorado" Lisa echoed dumbfounded. That's quite a precaution.

"Yeah, I sent it to my parents. You never know who's watching" Henry seemed proud of himself again. Lisa, on the other hand, felt really ashamed. That she believed him, that she'd started this conversation, and that he thought she was gonna end up in jail. And, most of all, she was ashamed that she felt sorry for Jackson Rippner. Because, if this was true, Rippner had no clue. He was acting as if he was going to really get away with everything. As if the future was bright for him.

"I sent it there…I sent it – " Henry was evidently on the verge of passing out, so Lisa made one last attempt of looking very pleased by his very presence. "Yes, Henry, you sent it to Colorado? That's fascinating"

"Yeah. To my mom. She won't even know what that is and she'll throw it into my old room for sure. She'll never realize that this is the matter of national security! She'll never know!"

"Why did you send it anyway?"

"They're after me. I think this is my last night when I can party it up a little. Especially considering tomorro's newspapers. Yup, they're after me" Henry's eyes immediately welled up with tears. _How pathetic_, thought Lisa, but said nothing.

"And she'll never know the password!" Henry got back to talking about his mother, because, most obviously, even the thought of 'them' was too drastic for him to bear, "She'll never know that the password is so simple, it's her birthday, she's such a good woman, you know, she raised me on her own, and was toiling – "

But Lisa wasn't listening anymore. She was kneeling next to the toiled and throwing up. This cannot be the truth. This cannot possibly be the truth. This isn't true. This is just bullshit of a drunken guy with mid-life crisis, there's nothing to think about. This is bullshit.

_And I'm going to Mexico_.

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><p>AN: Please press REVIEW button to let me know that I haven't bored you to death! No, just let me know what do you think! And, of course - thank you for reading this! Expect next chapters soon!

**Misery LaVey**


	3. Chapter 3: That's What You Get

**A/N:** This is the next chapter, finally there's something from Jackson here. I hope you're going to like it! Thanks for all the alerts and reviews and, actually, I had to adjust the last part of the previous chapter a little, because some things weren't as clear as they seemed to be in my head :) so, if you don't mind, take a quick look at the last part of Chapter 2. And, of course, I hope you're going to like this chapter! Jackson and Lisa at last confront each other...or, they would have, if they hadn't been interrupted by a twist in the plot :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything. Really. I don't even have my own Internet connection at the moment, so how could I own Red Eye. No copyright violation intended etc blah blah blah :)

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><p><strong>Chapter 003: That's what you get.<strong>

"Next time we go to a party together, please at least pretend you give a shit about me" Mark's words ruthlessly woke her up from a dream that shouldn't have been half as nice as it was.

Lisa slowly opened her eyes, wanting this day not to begin. Too late, she thought. Hesitantly, she sat up on the bed and looked at her clothes. Apparently, she was too drunk to even undress. Something in her head was whispering that she might have gone a little too far in embarrassing her oh-so-righteous boyfriend, but, actually, the previous night was mostly a blur.

"Would you not scream" she whispered and forced a smile when Mark handed her a glass of water and some pain-killers. She didn't hope for them to work, her hangover was simply too epic to be slain by any medicine.

"I guess you're gonna ask me what did you do last night that I'm so angry, aren't you. I'm not surprised if you don't remember. You _do_ remember, though, that there's another hearing in the court today, right?" Mark asked, still sounding very bitter. Lisa rolled her eyes, but regretted it the very next second, as it sent new waves of pain through her skull.

"I know" she growled. "So…okay…What did I do?"

Mark just smiled and leaned towards her to kiss her, but, under some inexplicable reflex, Lisa quickly backed away from him. They both froze and looked at each other, Mark clearly stung and Lisa mostly shocked. Why did she do that?

"Sorry, I –"she began in a weak voice, but he shook his head. "No, no, it's okay, honey. I shouldn't moved so fast. You just woke up. You're just still affected by what that terrorist did to you. I should've thought about it. I'm sorry"

For the longest moment, Lisa just gawked at him, processing his train of thoughts and what that meant for both of them. 'What that terrorist did to you' echoed in her mind and just then she realized that, in fact, she had never told Mark about what some other man had done to her. She had never told anyone.

Except _that terrorist_.

That terrorist, who, in all likelihood, was at that very moment preparing for another performance in the court, completely unaware of what his own father had in mind for him. _Considering that Henry was telling the truth, that is._ _But he wasn't. He wasn't_. Lisa clenched her teeth and repeated this in her thought ten more times, but still she wasn't sure what her opinion on it was.

"Lisa, honey, are you all right?" Mark was really concerned now. Lisa frowned, trying to remember her whole conversation with Henry but she couldn't focus for the life of her. The headache was too strong.

"Some more pills?" she suggested pleadingly to Mark, but he just smiled and said: "I've got something better" and with these words, he handed her today's newspaper. Big, huge letters of the newspaper's name disappointed Lisa at first, because she really didn't like tabloids, but then she remembered it was Henry's tabloid. The one for which he worked. And a memory of his words popped up in her head like a small neon lamp.

"…_Especially considering tomorrow's newspapers…"_

Feeling the adrenaline rush, she grabbed the newspaper from Mark's hands, making him laugh and not really giving a damn about it, and she looked at the front page where huge letters were screaming in her face – _THE COMPANY_ BOUGHT THEM ALL: LIST OF POLITICIANS CONNECTED WITH MYSTERIOUS TERRORIST ORGANIZATION.

"Oh. My. God" Lisa couldn't quite believe her own eyes. But it got worse. Under the title and some tabloid-y introduction there was something else: "Read more on page 2. The story by Henry Lincoln".

"Henry Lincoln" she whispered and stopped breathing.

She stared at the small, thick letters, praying to God that she was hallucinating. She wasn't. Or, maybe, God just wasn't listening. Finally, she gathered enough courage to read the article, but witch each word she was feeling more and more sick. Because with each word she was closer to realizing that, if the words she was reading were true, than the rest of what Henry had said had to be the truth as well. And no tabloid, not even this one, would risk printing such a huge story if they weren't convinced it was the truth.

So, the other thing was the truth, too.

"I'm gonna puke" she cried and ran to the bathroom, leaving Mark staring at the bathroom door in a total shock.

"Lisa?" he knocked at the door few minutes later and, when she didn't respond he went inside only to see her kneeling next to the toiled, with her hands on her temples, as if she wanted to prevent her head from falling apart into pieces. She looked really miserable and, what shocked him the most, she was crying.

It was the very first time when he saw Lisa Reisert crying.

"What's the matter, sweetie?" quickly, he kneeled down next to her, not really sure how to console her. In his mind, she was this tough, unbreakable super-human and now she was crying because of stupid hangover. Or, was it because of something else? "Why are you crying? Lisa?"

Hearing his worried voice only made her cry more. Finally, when he repeated his question few more times, she managed in between the sobs: "I don't know…I just…I don't want to know what I know…I don't want the responsibility. I don't want to know".

Lisa looked up at Mark, hoping he'd console her somehow, but the moment she said the last words, something changed in Mark's face. When she said she didn't want to know, Mark's eyes blackened a little, the spark of sick curiosity lit them with the dark flame and, Lisa knew this for sure, this wasn't how he, or anybody else for that matter, should react.

For a second, Mark looked like he might kill her to find out what she knew.

It lasted only a second, though and Mark covered for it really quickly. He closed his eyes and slowly kissed Lisa on the forehead. Then he wiped tears from her cheeks and, in an incredibly gentle tone, he asked: "What is it that you don't want to know, Lisa?"

She looked at him intently. Everything about his concern and gentleness was so obviously faked. She might have been fooled by Jackson, but, comparing to him, Mark was an amateur and, simply, he just wasn't good enough to deceive her.

"Wow, look at you Mark – "she stated bitterly, pushing him away and getting up, "– so big on asking questions all of sudden. So eager to know now, but for the last three months, you couldn't be bothered to ask about the most basic things. But now you want to know!"

"Lisa, what do you…I just want to know what has upset you so much?"

"Why didn't you want to know where I've got this scar from, for starters?" she yelled, lowering the neckline of her dress to expose the scar she hated so much. In fact, she was quite surprised – and appalled – with herself, that she was using the scar against Mark, but, at the same time, she knew she just had to change the topic.

"I – I, oh, God, Lisa, I just didn't know how to ask. It's quite personal, isn't it?"

"We've been sleeping together, I think it justifies you to ask personal questions!" she was washing her face with cold water, desperately hoping to get out of this apartment. She felt as if she was going to suffocate. Or be suffocated. Asphyxiated. Whatever.

"Fine! Where you've got it from?" Mark asked angrily, but Lisa just laughed and looked at him with pity. "That's not your damn business" she said and darted back to the bedroom, where she began looking for her shoes and purse, which wasn't all that easy, considering the overall mess.

"Look, I just, I'm just worried about you Lisa. You get drunk with Henry Lincoln of all the people, now you're crying after reading his article and I've been told you spent quite some time with him locked up in the bathroom upstairs on the party – "

"So?" Lisa tilted her head and looked daggers at Mark, who immediately realized how huge mistake he'd just made.

"I'm not saying that anything happened there – "

"Why? Why you're not saying that? Are you so full of yourself that you've crossed out the possibility that I could cheat on you?" Lisa was determined to go with this, as long as they weren't talking about the reasons behind her tears.

"With Henry? Please!" Mark rolled his eyes.

Lisa had to admit, he had a point. She just laughed and, having finally found her stuff, she said officiously, "Look, Mark, I've got to get home, take a shower and change into something more appropriate for the court. So, I really don't have the time for arguments now. See you later, yeah?"

She was already at the door, when Mark dared one more question. One question which chilled her to the very bones.

"And why are you planning to go to Mexico?"

Slowly, Lisa turned on her heel and faced Mark. "I'm not" she blurted out incredulously.

"Than why did you spend good twenty minutes yesterday, convincing me you'll move to Mexico first thing tomorrow – which, by the way, is today – where you _won't have to look into his eyes ever again_?"

"Well, Henry is quite scary when he's drunk" Lisa went with the first thing that came to her head, but, this time it was Mark who wouldn't be fooled.

"I don't think you meant Henry, honey."

"Oh, really, then who could I possibly be talking about?" she crossed her arms and inwardly cursed her stubbornness, because she should be already out the door, but, instead, she was still in Mark's apartment continuing this pointless argument, in which she stood no chance, since she couldn't remember what she'd said to him about Mexico. Or anything else, for that matter.

"We both know who" said Mark and Lisa felt her cheeks burning, even though she couldn't quite understand why.

"Well, if you're _so_ concerned…I'm not moving to Mexico, am I"

"I don't know. Are you?" Mark moved a little closer. Lisa took a few steps back. How could this be happening? What does it really take from a normal hangover to transform into an utter disaster of every aspect of one's personal life? And what was she going to do about all the things Henry had told her? It crossed her mind that the real problem would be if she was the only person he'd told her about those things. _I need to talk to Henry_, she decided. Now she really had to end this argument.

"Even if I am, you're not invited" she said and quickly left the apartment, shutting the door behind her ostentatiously.

**XXXxxxxXXXxxx**

He liked watching her in the courtroom. It wasn't helping his case, naturally, but he wasn't going to deny himself this little indulgence. Especially, that her reactions to him never failed to be at least entertaining. Let alone the way she'd blushed every time he'd look at her in a certain way. Why not, then? He deserved some kind of fun in all this humiliation. And he could read her like an open book, so, why the hell not?

That last piece of information that she'd left for the very end, the missing puzzle to decipher Lisa Reisert, the fact that she'd been raped (and hadn't reported it – which he knew, because he'd done quite thorough background check on her), that made him finally understand her. All the deceptively conflicting details had clicked into the right places. Finally, he'd had the whole picture. Finally, he understood her.

Too bad, she'd stuck that fucking pen right into his throat the very next second.

But, either way, now he could understand her constant resistance, her fighting, her distrust, her fury, even her pathetic hermit-like life, and it was some kind of a consolation to Jackson Rippner. After all, he couldn't have possibly known that Lisa's appearances of being just the perfect, plain, almost text-book example of a victim, had been nothing but a false-pretence.

So, in some twisted way, it wasn't entirely his fault that he'd failed so bad with what had seemed like a no-brainer kind of a job. It was Lisa's fault and now he could finally see right through her, so, he'd decided to enjoy it.

Really, why not?

The trial had been a first-rate entertainment itself anyway, especially with the grand finale his lawyers still had up their designer sleeves, but it wasn't enough for Jackson. He wanted something that only he could enjoy – as wrong as it sounds. Something that hadn't been planned by his father.

So he'd been staring at Lisa Reisert like the stalker he would never admit to be. Just because he could.

And Lisa, she had changed a lot since That Flight, but, knowing what he hadn't known about her back then, he could understand those changes. What's more, he had to admit, he wouldn't come up with anything better in such a situation himself.

She was dating an FBI officer, to begin with. A move that clearly stunned Jackson at first, but, after he'd come to terms with how stupid his first reaction was, he had to admit, Lisa was smart. Since her life before had suggested she was an easy target, she decided to change completely. And she hooked up with a dude from FBI, with who she was – as Jackson was informed on a regular basis – partying at least two times a week. Suddenly, she was no longer this lonely girl sitting in an empty apartment, but she was surrounded with all the right people.

And there were also the visuals that Lisa had made up her mind to change. She'd dyed her slightly ginger hair into decidedly red colour, almost like that pop-singer's horrendous weave, quite classless, but the message it was sending was clear. I'm not going to blend in the crowd, I'm not hiding, I'm not scared, I'm tough.

She wasn't wearing her goody-two-shoes boring outfits anymore either. Not that she'd walk around in leather jacked and ripped jeans, although Jackson couldn't help but think how truly amazing that would be, but every time he'd seen her in the court, she'd had this unmistakable 'don't mess with me' aura about herself.

And, even if it was just as fake as her lifestyle before That Flight, now Jackson understood it.

He also knew that he'd been the reason for such a change and it made him feel as if his failure had almost been worth it.

Almost, because, obviously, it wasn't all that easy to get out of the deep shit he was in thanks to Lisa Reisert, no matter how convincing his overpaid lawyers were, it wasn't all that fucking easy. And it would've been a lot more difficult, had he not uttered, in a moment of complete despair, this one threat to his father: "Get me out of this or I start talking".

His father had, predictably, burst with genuine laughter, because, and they both knew it, had Jackson made a decision _to talk_, he'd been long gone before he'd even open his mouth. But then, again, growing up in the very heart of The Company and witnessing what kind of a person his father was, had learnt Jackson one thing – to never, ever trust his father. So, he'd followed his threat with more reasonable-one: "I don't even have to talk, actually. I just need to contact one person and shit's gonna hit the fan globally"

"What if you die, though? Accidents happen, my son" Jackson's father said with no shade of his previous amusement, "You can, for instance, slip on the wet prison floor and smack your head against the stairs or something"

"It doesn't matter. I die, and things get published anyway" Jackson retorted immediately, wondering how on earth could his father not realise it was all bluffing. He had nothing. Nothing at all.

But the very next day, he'd had not one but two insanely expensive lawyers whose work ethics would make Patrick Bateman look like a role model and who'd promised to work miracles. And, so far, they'd been doing just that, leaving Jackson with a lot of worry-free time during the trials.

So he amused himself in observing Lisa.

Sometimes he'd even run into her in the marble, church-like hallways. The policemen who were escorting him were gifted with common-sense so it had never even crossed their minds to force anything upon Jackson. When he wanted to stop and chat with someone, he'd stop and did just that.

Last time they'd talked, or, to be more precise, he'd talked to her and she avoided his gaze, he'd noticed that her whole self-confidence wasn't so obvious anymore when he was standing next to her. Jackson assumed the lawyers were worth all the money, because it had to be on their account that Lisa had been so unsure of how to proceed in contact with Rippner.

She was smart enough, of course, not to say a single word to him.

And in the courtroom, even when she'd completely blanked out mid-sentence under his shameless stare, there was nothing but anger in her green eyes. Okay, maybe a little bit of hatred, too. And confusion, as if she was aware that now, finally, he could see right through her.

But nothing more than that.

Until today. Maybe it was because of all the drama and Keefe's being on the list of supposedly corrupted politicians, and maybe it was for some other reason, but when he'd passed her on the court's corridor today, she glanced at him briefly in a way that almost stopped him in his tracks.

She looked at him with something he expected the least. She looked at him with genuine sadness.

Jackson did stop eventually, because, after three months of anger, such a display of resentment wasn't something to be ignored and he raised his eyebrows at her inquiringly, but the very next moment, she noticed someone behind Jackson's back and rushed towards him. "Henry!" she said, "I've been trying to call you the whole morning, we need to talk"

Jackson observed as Lisa approached the guy, who, as Jackson already knew, was the author of the infamous rant in the press attacking The Company in surprisingly admirable way; then he watched her argue with him about something, both of them were gesticulating, but it was quite evident that this Henry guy was trying to defend himself against Lisa's anger. _Good luck with that_, Jackson thought and was just about to head to the courtroom when he heard Lisa swearing out loud. Amused, he glanced over his shoulder at her; she was done with the journalist. In order to enter the courtroom, she had to go right pass him, so he motioned to one of his guards. The policeman understood Jackson's wish instantly and he approached Lisa, politely asking her on the side for a moment.

Her eyes flickered with fear, but – for some clearly inexplicable reason – she listened to the cop and slowly walked over to Jackson. He watched her coming closer and the absurdity of this moment made him even more suspicious. Or, he corrected himself, it would've made him suspicious if he hadn't been to busy taking in all the details of Lisa's appearance.

And, again, when she looked at him, there was nothing but sadness in her eyes.

And that itself, considering they met just hours after that article had been published and just seconds after she'd argued about something with its author, it was all very alarming to Jackson. Because, as much as he could understand Lisa Reisert, as much as he claimed he could read her like an open book, she was also still quite erratic.

"What" she finally muttered through clenched teeth, forcing herself to look angry, but Jackson just stared at her. He wanted to make this moment a little longer, just a little bit, because he knew that it's the very last one. On today's hearing his lawyers were going to finally announce something that would make Lisa look at Jackson with nothing but hatred for the rest of her life. Bribed DA would press the charges at last and she would never look at him like this again…

_For fuckssake, why do I even care_, Jackson reprimanded himself, but, still, against all logic, he wasn't going to put an end to this peculiar silence they shared.

Lisa did it for him, saying "What do you want, Rippner? People are staring, so –"

"Why did you look at me _like that_?" he barged in and smiled at her reaction to his voice – Lisa literally stopped breathing and her green eyes darkened considerably. He wanted to say that this red hair doesn't suit her and he wanted to say that this dress she'd chosen isn't exactly the most court-appropriate outfit ever and he wanted to comment on a few more things, and he had no idea why. Those three months of arrest, because his father had refused to pay the bail for him ("This will set up an example, son"), must have seriously messed with his head. There he was, in the middle of legal nightmare, so close to fucking it up, because he couldn't resist the temptation of talking to that one person he should not talk to.

_Walking on a thin ice for no reason_, he concluded, even though he knew very well that there's always a reason.

"Why do you care?" she whispered and glanced over her shoulder. She seemed to be more scared of people around them than of him. Another weird change. Jackson also looked around, some people were watching them with shameless curiosity, but he couldn't care less. There had to be a reason for Lisa's alteration of behaviour and, even if it was such a supposedly insignificant detail, he was not going to ignore it. He would never ignore supposedly insignificant details again when it comes to Lisa Reisert.

"I'm just – it's just quite suspicious, Leese. Don't you hate me anymore?" he dared the blunt question with thinly veiled sarcasm and looked at her, almost hoping to see the familiar anger in her face again. But she wasn't angry. Something was not right. She had no reason not to be angry.

"Of course, I do. You're a murderer and you deserve nothing but hate – "she began, but the true sadness in her voice didn't quite match those mean words, " – but, I guess, it's a little bit sad when your death sentence has been signed by your own father and even someone like you – "

And then they heard it. The sound of gunshots right next to them. It drowned out Lisa's voice and it made her jump in her skin, but Jackson didn't move. He didn't even blink. '_Your death sentence has been signed by your own father'_? How could she possibly…?

Then, as everyone started to scream and panic, Jackson realized that Lisa's reaction to gunshots was more than strange, the second the first shot cut the air, Lisa's eyes darted exactly to the place where she'd been talking with Henry moments earlier.

And he couldn't believe his own eyes when he also looked in that direction. That poor journalist was lying on the marble stairs in the puddle of his own blood. _That's what you get for messing with my superiors,_ it crossed his mind, but this time he didn't feel any triumph about it. In fact, all he felt was shock.

His own death sentence signed by his father? Even despite all the money spent for the lawyers, all the effort, all the reassuring conversations? Simply, that didn't add up.

"We should be going, Rippner" one of the police officers warned him with almost insulting politeness and grabbed Jackson's shoulder, but Jackson wasn't listening. He was looking at Lisa. She was breathing heavily and whispering "Oh-my-god-oh-my-god", but, at the same time, he could see that expression of focus in her face. He knew. She was thinking very clearly now, probably considering all the possible ways of escaping, he just knew it. He didn't know why, though. No one was after her this time.

Unless, of course, no one was after her _yet_.

As the police officer pulled him away through all the truly unimaginable chaos, Jackson glanced over his shoulder at Lisa one more time. She was still standing there, perplexed and completely defenceless and, almost as if she felt his eyes on her, she looked right at him.

And she wasn't just sad anymore. No, now Lisa Reisert was on the verge of panic attack. _Why so scared, Leese_, thought Jackson with bitter satisfaction and turned around, but, still, he managed to notice something with the corner of his eye. Something that made him revalue the situation.

There she was, swallowed by fear and, still, Lisa had enough of clear thinking to reach towards some young guy passing her by, quickly take off his beanie – which the guy didn't even pay attention too, since there was a bleeding corpse within meters from him – and put it on.

This simple move made Jackson realize that Lisa really knew something. Something she shouldn't know. Something about his father. Something that might cost her life, but, also, something that might save Jackson's life.

And that's when he made up his mind.

After all, it wasn't a difficult decision. Quite the opposite, actually. To trust his father's solemn promises that everything will go back to normal or to trust Lisa Reisert's whimsical suggestions that everything will turn to shit wasn't really a decision at all.

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><p><strong>AN:** Please press REVIEW button and make my day :) No, actually, just tell me what you think, did you like it, did you hate it, does it make sense at all? And, once again, I apologize in advance for any messed up grammar, since English is not my first language! The more reviews, the sooner the next chapter will be published, so don't be shy! ^_^

Thanks for reading this little story!  
><strong>Misery LaVey<strong>


	4. Chapter 4: The Best Day Ever

**A/N: So...FINALLY an update. I know. I've got no excuse. It's just that my brain's not working properly lately :P Anyway, I hope you're gonna like this chapter!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize from this awesome movie. Obviously. And unfortunately.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 004: The Best Day Ever.<strong>

It didn't surprise him to see her with a new, not so flashy, hair colour. It also didn't surprise him that he liked her so much more with dark, almost purple hair. What _did_ surprise him was how easily he'd trusted her, even though all he'd heard from Lisa had been that whimsical suggestion. Something that could've been a lie, maybe nothing but a stupid, meaningless remark made only to get on his nerves. Which, and they both knew it all too well, was something that Lisa Reisert liked a lot.

And yet, he trusted her. Blindly. Against all reason, so it seamed, but for Jackson it was the most reasonable thing he'd done in past three months or so.

And now he was watching Lisa trying to do the same thing that he'd just so easily done. Escape. For him, it'd been a no-brainer, really. After all, he'd been doing nothing but stunts like that for years now and only got caught once (thanks to one particularly irritating young woman). For her it was still something new, so her steps were based on instinct more than rational calculation. Still, it was pretty impressive, Jackson had to admit it.

Just after leaving the court, Lisa had gone straight to the nearest hairdresser and got her hair dyed. Then she must've gone shopping because when Jackson had seen her entering her building she had been wearing simple grey jumper and faded jeans. Such a contrast from the flashy outfit she'd worn to the court that morning. He'd made rather pointless observation that in this casual version Lisa looked just equally tasty.

_Priceless observation, genius_, he reprimanded himself inwardly and focused on Lisa's apartment windows again. He was sitting in a rented car parked just across the street and watched intently the three windows on the first floor. He'd had no problem with finding the address, he didn't even have to make any effort, really. His father's people had done all the work for him.

And then, after they'd given him all the information he needed, then he'd disappeared on his way from the court back to the arrest. Just like that, he was no longer there. After three months of obediently, almost submissively playing a part in a play directed by his father, he quit. All it took was one suggestion from Lisa Reisert and the stage was empty, he was gone. He could've made entirely wrong decision but something was telling Jackson that this was the right thing to do.

Now all he needed was to talk to her, persuade or maybe threaten her a little in order to acquire the missing pieces of information. So, he was waiting. He was waiting patiently, despite the fact that his _disappearance_ had been announced in all local radio stations, so the police – bunch of useless idiots – were already after him.

He easily deducted that the only reason Lisa came back to her flat was to take some necessary stuff for the journey, wherever it was she wanted to go. He remembered the utter terror in her eyes when she'd seen that poor journalist being shot there, in the court. And he'd still remembered Lisa's immediate reaction, she'd switched from panic to determination in a split of a second. Jackson knew it wasn't something that just anyone would do, that's why, in a very twisted way, he respected Lisa. And now, as he was staring at her apartment windows he also felt something more than respect. Something he hadn't felt ever since That Flight.

A dark, twisted satisfaction that he met his equal, finally. Or, if not equal, than at least someone who could keep things interesting. And that, after all those years spent on doing what he was so good at (or thought he was so good at, until he met Lisa), that was pretty damn unusual for Jackson. Sure it had led him to a total failure before, but he was willing to take the risk again. Especially if it meant messing up his father's plans. _Especially_ if these plans meant getting rid of Jackson.

He expected Lisa to spent only a moment in her flat, so he began to worry when the lights were still on after twenty minutes. Naturally, he would never ever admit, for the life of him, that he was worrying, but he was. Not exactly what he'd call professional approach. He really couldn't help it, though. He didn't really tried either.

For a second he considered the possibility she'd gone through some other exit, but he had taken a good deal of time to examine the building earlier that day. He'd done it, even though it was such an obvious risk; should the police come to look for him, Lisa's place would be their first option, after all it wouldn't take a genius to figure out Jackson would want a revenge. Strangely enough, no one had noticed him. Or, even if they had, they'd been waiting for a better moment?

_Leese, what's taking you so long_, he thought impatiently, looking at the windows and he was just about to assume that maybe, in the end, he'd been wrong about her, maybe she wasn't going anywhere, when in one of the windows he saw a silhouette of a man. A man, that most certainly hadn't entered the apartment for the last few hours that Jackson had spent in this car. A man that, in all probability, wasn't supposed to be there.

It could be some neighbour, naturally. Yes, it could be a neighbour. Nothing to worry about. Still, he wasn't going to take such risk. Lisa Reisert was enough of a risk for him. Risking losing her was not an option.

_Losing_ her? Did he really just think that? Was he really that much of a pathetic idiot? _Losing her, really?_

Jackson took a deep, slow breath and ran his fingers through his hair. Losing her, that's the new definition of pitiful. He wanted to laugh at himself.

He wanted so much to laugh. He didn't. Naturally. And it took him less than a minute to get to Lisa's apartment. After all, his mind had been made up for a long time now.

**xxxxxXXXXXxxxxx**

Staring at the gun pointed at her, she thought, _I am made of glass, eventually. I will fall to pieces, finally. _

This thought, so absurd, it almost made her laugh. And she had to admit, she was not surprised. After all, Mark shared her rather unhealthy obsession with Jackson Rippner. So, really, why should she be surprised that he was now keeping her as a hostage in hope to be the one who gets to catch Jackson.

_I will fall to pieces, like a glass,_ her mind was swimming with this stupid thought as silent seconds and minutes were passing by, _I will fall to pieces. Except, these pieces will be nothing like glass. They will be soaking in dark, warm blood._

Lisa had to bit her lip to stop herself from smiling. There was nothing funny about the fact that this situation was making her smile, though. Mark, her oh-so-perfect FBI boyfriend was pointing the gun at her, even though not so long ago he'd been moaning to her ear how much he loved her. She could still picture his stupid grin the moment she would spread her legs for him. He was smiling very much like that now, too.

The circumstances were quite different, though. Shockingly different. And yet, she was not surprised.

Neither was she surprised when the anticipated guest of the evening finally showed up. _Lisa Reisert, you're getting old and cynical and bitter,_ she thought as she saw him leaning against the doorway casually, as if he'd just popped over for a cup of tea. Or something like that. She could not resist but notice that he looked a bit too focused, his ignorant smirk was a bit too ignorant. He was putting on a show for the crazy FBI agent here and Lisa wondered why did he even bother. Why wouldn't he just kill Mark?

"Hi, Leese – " said Jackson in his usual mocking politeness, " – hello Mark."

"Don't move!" Mark yelled immediately, his face red from the excitement. Lisa felt like rolling her eyes at this. Did he really think it would go that easy with a person like Rippner? Was her really that dumb?

Apparently, he was. And it didn't surprise her.

"You're probably wondering – " Jackson meanwhile continued, sounding almost cheerful, " – why won't I just kill you, right?" He took a small step towards Mark, who repeated his threats in a perfectly police-academy-like voice.

_And he's reading my mind again_, she thought with irritation. Really why won't he just kill him? For all she cared right now, after over 15 minutes of watching the gun pointed right at her, Mark could now die. What kind of boyfriend does something like that? Not that she was the world's most perfect girlfriend either, but, still, this was a little bit over the edge. As in, completely crazy.

Jackson took one more step towards the middle of the room, despite Mark's threats and Lisa bit her lip again. This time she didn't feel like smiling. This time it was more like screaming at the top of her lungs. It was anger. And it was fear.

She was scared, because she finally realized why Jackson didn't kill Mark. He was approaching Mark with his arms in the air, in the gesture of surrender, because, apparently he had no gun. And that scared Lisa right to her bones.

And this fear, this fear not for her own life but somebody else's, this made her angry so much that she wanted to scream. Now she wanted to kill both of them, the fucked up FBI agent for whom she'd fake orgasms way too many times and the even more fucked up psychotic killer about whom she'd had disturbingly pleasant dreams way too many times.

It was all too messed up. And not surprising at all.

What finally _did_ surprise her was Jackson's words when he stopped right between Mark's gun and Lisa. "If you have to kill someone tonight, Mark, it will be me, right?" he said in a frighteningly calm voice, "It's not gonna be her, do you understand me?"

Lisa felt her hands clenching to fists, what was this jerk thinking, that he'll put on a show of sacrificing his life to save her? And what was she thinking, totally buying this bullshit?

And then, as Jackson took one step back from Mark towards her, she noticed something else. There was a gun in the back pocket of his jeans.

He took another small step towards her. The gun in his back pocket, oh really? Lisa was now shocked. And appalled. _Seriously?_ Now she could perfectly understand why he'd been smirking like that. He was provoking her. But provoking to do what? Shot her boyfriend?

"Don't move, motherfucker!" Mark kept yelling, "Man, you are more stupid than I thought! To come here, to her flat, that's fucking brilliant! Your daddy will pay me really well to get you back, you idiot!"

"What?" both Lisa and Jackson blurted out in the same moment, equally stunned at Mark's declaration.

"You mad?" Mark burst with laughter and his hand trembled uncontrollably on the gun. Lisa could see that and, for the first time this evening, it occurred to her that actually, in the end, it might not be Jackson Rippner who's the real crazy in this room.

"Yes, I'm very fucking mad" she said quietly and, in one quick move, she took Jackson's gun and pointed it at Mark. And all it took was one look of surprise in Mark's eyes. One 'what the fuck are you doing' moment and it was all done.

The echo of the gunshot ringed in Lisa's ears as she stared at Mark's face winced in the most absurd grimace ever. Had she really done it? Had she just shot the guy she'd been sleeping with and ...

"A knee, Leese? Seriously?" Jackson's mocking voice brought her back to reality like a cold shower. "How fucking stupid are you?"

She scowled at him, unable to say anything. Suddenly, the gun she held in her hand seemed to weight a tone. She would've dropped it to the floor, but Jackson caught it in the very last moment. In the next moment, he grabbed a chair and hit Mark with it so hard, that it broke.

"What are you doing?" Lisa cried as Mark's unconscious body fell to the floor with loud thud.

"What? You feel like I'm too harsh on him?" Jackson said and grabbed her wrist, "You just shot him, didn't you?"

Lisa tried to pull her hand out of his grip but it was to no use. "Now, Leese, you've got 20 seconds to take all you need for the trip –"

"How do you –"

"I'm a pro, don't forget that, please"

"What do you want?" she asked with tears of anger in her eyes. How much worse this day was going to become? She'd just shot FBI agent, in her own apartment, there's no way she could ever, ever get away with that.

"Just a few basic facts, Leese"

"I'm not telling you any –"

"Oh, shut up, you've just shot FBI agent, you're just as much of a criminal as me now, so you can as well use my help"

"Why would you help me, Jack?" she laughed bitterly, which made him scowl at her with such loathing that she thought her blood would freeze.

"Because you've got something I need" he explained through clenched teeth, "But right now you've just wasted your twenty seconds. Now you've got ten more, because I'm in a good mood. And don't ask me what I need, or I'll assume that you're mentally deficient, ok?"

He let go of her and, in a sort of a reflex, Lisa slapped him across the face, but it only made him laugh. "Oh, we're gonna have so much fun together" he said with that particular look in his eyes she hated the most.

Still, Lisa didn't say anything back. There was nothing to say. There was nothing to do.

_Nothing else, that is, than to leave this apartment with him without looking back_, she thought bitterly. _There is no way to go back now._

_There is no reason, either._

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><p><strong>AN: Please press review button and let me know what you think? Is it too insane and against all reason?**

**And, of course, thank you for reading!**  
><strong>~Misery LaVey <strong>


	5. Chapter 5: Hit Me With Your Best Shot

**Disclaimer: I don't own Red Eye. Too bad.**

**A/N: sorry for any mistakes as English's not my first language, but I hope it's not all too shabby either :) Hope you'll enjoy this little chapter. Please let me know what you think :)**

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><p><strong>Chapter 5: Hit Me With Your Best Shot.<strong>

Surreal. It was all so damn surreal. Like and acid dream, except maybe nicer. Not that Lisa knew what it's like to hallucinate on acid, but it couldn't feel much different than sitting in one car with Jackson of all people, and knowing that their fate is now tangled forever.

_Fate. Tangled forever. What an utter bullshit._ She wanted to laugh at her own thoughts, but she was too scared to laugh. Or even smile. Because, as surreal as her current situation was, it contained too much of very real danger, it was pumping the blood in her veins like some crazy factory on crazy Made In China steroids. She feared her head might simply explode any minute now, quite literally.

Since they'd left her apartment, leaving unconscious Mark on the blood-stained carpet, Jackson hasn't uttered a single word. Nothing about where they were heading, how they'd get there, what they'd gonna do when they get there, nothing at all. He just stared ahead while driving through the city. She could make out this all too familiar determination just from looking at his face, but she didn't look much.

Because she needed to focus.

They had the local news radio on, their names mentioned every half minute or so. At first Lisa tried to count the times they'd say that Jackson Rippner is on the run and possibly has a hostage, meaning her, but after twentieth time she got sick of that point of view and in an impatient move, she changed the station to some 80s rock hits.

As the catchy chorus of "Hit me with your best shot" filled the silence between them, Jackson smiled and looked at Lisa with genuine amusement. She just shrugged her shoulders and fixed her stare on the dark road ahead. "It's not like I'm your hostage, Jack", she muttered and, much to her surprise, he did not disagree.

"We pretty much depend on each other now" he said. She raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for some more Jackson-like explanation of this strangely cliché statement. "Well, I assume that reporter's death keeps you awake, isn't it. And if it does, it's because you know something. It just so happens this something's very much keeping me awake, too –"

"So, it's almost as if I was keeping you awake" Lisa blurted in without thinking.

"You should be so lucky, Leese" Jack snorted and shook his head in disbelief, "You know, it's so damn typical of you to ignore the seriousness of the situation and – "

"And what? Agree to depend on you, you from all the people, Jack?" Lisa knew they'd already crossed the unbelievably thin line between hostile yet mature agreement to somehow cooperate and childish need to argue, she knew it, but she didn't care. Even if it was childish, she couldn't really help it. And why would she, why would she put up with his attitude, especially now that his life very literally depended on her? Sure, without him she'd never made it to Henry's mother's house, most probably without Jackson she wouldn't even make it out alive out of the city, but, still, she wouldn't just sheepishly agree to tolerate his snarky remarks. No.

And she would also ignore the pretty much twisted adrenaline rush that arguing with him was giving her. She had enough of adrenaline making her insane already.

"_Anyway_ – ", Jack continued unbiased, " – whatever's the reason of Henry's death –"

"Oh, you even know his name. How touching"

"It's not touching, it's professional", Jackson snapped back and Lisa noticed that he's suddenly started driving much faster. Too fast to come unnoticed on almost deserted streets of the city, "and whatever's the reason of your peculiar behaviour in the court – "

"You mean when I said I feel sorry for you?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I mean, Lisa", he took sharp turn right and for a moment Lisa thought he lost his mind for good, but then she realized. They were being chased. Already. She glanced behind her shoulder. Yes, there was a car just behind them, speeding just as much as them. Funny how police's never there when you need them. Not that she really wanted to see police on the same night as she shot an FBI agent. Who was her boyfriend.

Ok, who wasn't her boyfriend anymore. _Now I'm single and stuck in a car with serial killer, chased by some more serial killers. Fun_.

"So, like I said – " Jackson continued in shockingly calm, given the situation, voice, " – Henry's death and that...that _thing_ you said about me and my, ehm, father, it's all connected and before you even tell me how brilliant I am to come up with this –" he even smirked at her, which, she had to admit was pretty impressive, if she was driving so insanely fast, she couldn't focus on saying a single word, and there he was having his usual sarcastic monologue, " – before you say anything, you've got to tell me what was you plan, Leese –"

She glanced behind again and all the adrenaline in her nervous system froze.

"They've got a gun, Jack", she said. Her voice sounded strange, drained of all emotions by fear.

"Don't worry – " Jack took another few turns and Lisa almost hit her head on the window, " – they've got nothing on me"

"Yeah, looks like they've got a faster car" she cried.

"They wouldn't dare actually shooting me" Jackson said, speeding up even more. What part of the city is this, Lisa wondered vaguely, watching the strange-looking streets. It didn't feel like her city at all. And it did not matter at all, either.

"Oh, you're right, Jack – " she sneered, frantically looking at the car behind them with some guy pointing a gun right at them, " – it's not like your father wants you dead. Not at all"

Suddenly they entered a tunnel and Jackson commanded to her: "Grab the wheel". Before she could process his words, he was leaning outside the window and the sounds of shots deafened her thoughts. Still, she could see her hands steadily grabbing the wheel and, still, she knew, that somehow they're gonna be fine.

_I trust him, I'm insane_.

**xxXXxxXXxx**

"See? I told you, they wouldn't dare actually shooting us" Jack was casually leaning against their new car, one that they'd stole from a gas station literally an hour earlier, leaving the previous one in the middle of pretty dingy neighbourhood.

"You didn't give them much chance" she said, carefully studying his face. There was a scary peace in his eyes, peace she could not understand at all. He had wounded, possibly killed two men just a few hours earlier and now he was acting like it was his bitter routine.

Because it was.

"Don't look at me like that, Leese – " he said, probably guessing her thoughts, " – it's not like I had any choice. It's not like I was protecting only my life – "

"Jack – "

"And it's not like I care about your opinion, so save it for your memoirs" he finished of with all-too-familiar sarcasm and all-too-cold look of his unreal eyes. Lisa couldn't stand it, she had to look away. She already felt like she was drowning.

It was almost dawn, the sky already had this optimistic tinge of grey, but Lisa feared the daylight. She wished she could stay hidden in the night forever. With or without Jackson. But better with than without him.

"Colorado, huh?" he said amused, "Looks like we're gonna have some nice road trip together, Leese". His voice was still a little sarcastic, but Lisa didn't mind. She could still hear the echoes of the gunshots in her head and she could still see the dangerously calm look in his eyes after he'd kill those guys. And she knew, she knew she was safe with him.

_At least as long as our fates are tangled together like this_. She couldn't help but smile. _Yeah, that's some road trip_.

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><p><strong>AN: Thanks for reading and, once again, please do let me know what you think :) I've never written anything action-like ever in my life and I haven't even planned to make this chapter filled with any action, it sorta turned out this way by itself :)**


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